A 27-year-old rookie Staten Island firefighter died of an apparent heart attack yesterday while battling an immense blaze that leveled a West Brighton auto body shop.

Michael J. Gorumba of Aspen Knolls Way, Greenridge, collapsed after he fed a hose to his comrades on the front line of the fire, officials said. He was found by a plainclothes police officer slumped over the wheel of his company's fire truck, according to officials.

Gorumba was pronounced dead at St. Vincent's Medical Center, West Brighton, after attempts to resuscitate him at the scene and in the hospital failed, authorities said.

The cause of death is under investigation, pending an autopsy. Gorumba suffered from a heart murmur as a youth but passed a battery of tests, which found him fit for duty, officials said.

Gorumba, who graduated last month from the Fire Academy, is the first firefighter to die in the line of duty on Staten Island in 20 years, and the sixth in the city to die on duty this year. He is also the fourth in the last 10 months to have died as a result of heart attacks.

Gorumba leaves behind his wife, the former Lori Campbell, 27, who is four months' pregnant, and their 2-year-old son, Andrew.

"This is a real tragedy," a somber Mayor Rudolph Giuliani said outside St. Vincent's emergency room. "He very much loved being a firefighter. Our hearts go out to him and his family."

Six other firefighters and two emergency medical technicians suffered minor injuries in the blaze, officials said. The exact cause is under investigation, but was not initially considered suspicious, said Firefighter James Spollen, a Fire Department spokesman.

The fire broke out at 2:32 p.m. inside L&S Collision Auto Body at 41 Rector St., when a car that was being worked on burst into flames, fire officials said. Employees pushed the burning auto out of the garage but the fire had already spread to the building. No one else was inside at the time, according to the owner, who declined to give his name.

The rolling, seething blaze quickly engulfed the wood-frame structure, sending a 75-foot wall of smoke into the air. Tires and engine blocks exploded inside the garage and, after only a few minutes, half the building collapsed.

"I heard a couple of explosions and the roof blew up in the air," said Clove Road resident Anthony Boschi, whose yard is close to the property.

Port Richmond-based Engine Co. 157 was the first on the scene, rolling up in front of the entrance to the shop. A few seconds later, Gorumba's Engine Co. 163 arrived from its headquarters on Jewett Avenue in Westerleigh, pulling up behind the other engine, in front of a fire hydrant.

Firefighters from Engine 157 were spraying the out-of-control fire when a "mayday" call came over the radio, stating a firefighter was unaccounted for. Panic struck the emergency crews.

"You think, 'Where is he and how do we get him out?'" said Firefighter Rich Kane, an Annadale resident who was on a one-day assignment with Engine 157.

As Engine 157 kept fighting the blaze, several firefighters combed the area for Gorumba. A police officer who was nearby approached the 163 fire truck to find Gorumba -- in full gear -- unconscious inside the truck, fire officials said. He had never entered the garage.

"Member found, member at the rig," blared the fire radio.

The truck's driver and the police officer began to give Gorumba cardiopulmonary resuscitation and medics from a St. Vincent's ambulance nearby were summoned. Gorumba was quickly placed in the ambulance and taken to St. Vincent's.

The emergency medical technicians who were injured had been on the other side of the fire building and were running across the area to aid the medics who were attending to Gorumba when they became engulfed in smoke and spray from fire hoses, a source said.

Within a few minutes, the fire went to a third alarm. At its peak, 138 firefighters from Brooklyn and Staten Island and 33 units were at the scene. Firefighters hosed the fire from ladders high above the blaze, fighting back flames that threatened to engulf a row of houses on Clove Road behind the shop.

The houses sustained only minor heat damage, fire officials said.

Medical personnel continued to work on Gorumba at St. Vincent's, but their efforts failed, and he was pronounced dead around 3:30 p.m.

The fire was also declared under control around that time. In the minutes that followed, word began to spread through the ranks that Gorumba had died.

"Disbelief," was how Battalion Chief John Calderone of the 22nd Battalion described the scene.

"I mean, I hate to use the word routine, but this really was a routine fire," said Deputy Chief Theodore Goldfarb of Division 8. "[Gorumba] was in excellent shape. He was one of our fine young products."

As emergency crews cleaned up and fire marshals picked through the rubble of the leveled shop, Engine 163 sat quietly on Rector Street, its crew assembled at St. Vincent's. Its motor was turned off and the sounds of the fire radio echoed around the cabin.

Gorumba's bunker gear, which weighs about 60 pounds, was taken from the truck and placed across the street, where it was examined.

Eventually, after nearly all the trucks had left the scene, Engine 163 returned to its headquarters.

Outside the hospital emergency room, fire and police supervisors kept a silent vigil as officials attempted to contact Gorumba's family. Two firefighters left the emergency room, one with his arm in a sling, the other in his stocking feet.

Gorumba's wife arrived around 4:45 p.m. and was hurried inside, her eyes tear-streaked. Giuliani emerged from the hospital more than two hours later to speak to a throng of television cameras and reporters.

"We lost a young firefighter today ... who had realized his dream of being a firefighter in the greatest fire department in the world," he said.

First Deputy Fire Commissioner William M. Feehan said Gorumba's wife, when asked how she wanted Gorumba remembered, said, "Just tell them how much he loved his job."

Gorumba had worn Fire Department T-shirts since he was a boy, Giuliani said.

His death was the second tragedy to strike his family this year. His father died of a heart attack while playing handball several months ago, officials said.

Gorumba was appointed to the Fire Department on Feb. 4. He graduated from the department's training academy July 28 and was assigned to Engine Co. 163. While an academy student, he underwent 14 weeks of field training at Engine Co. 81 and Ladder Co. 46, both in the Bronx.

Gorumba passed a total of three heart and stress tests before his appointment, Feehan said. The last test was administered Feb. 1, when he was found to be in good health, officials said.

Dr. Kerry Kelly, the Fire Department's chief medical officer and a Grymes Hill resident, said all recruits undergo a routine electrocardiogram (EKG) and that Gorumba was administered an additional echocardiogram, which is an ultrasound examination of the heart, and a stress test. Feehan said the other tests were ordered after Gorumba informed the department he had a heart murmur as a youngster. The recent exams did not detect a murmur, said Feehan, adding that a number of firefighters have prior histories of heart murmurs.

However, Dr. Kelly said, the echocardiogram revealed that Gorumba had a condition called "mitral valve prolapse," which she said was present in about 20 to 30 percent of the population. The condition was not serious enough to prevent Gorumba from being hired as a firefighter, according to Dr. Kelly.

Mitral valve prolapse is a disorder in which the mitral heart valve does not close completely, allowing blood to leak back into the left atrium. In most cases the condition causes few or no symptoms, although Dr. Kelly said it can sometimes be associated with chest pains or abnormal heart rhythms.

Because the disorder is relatively minor, people with mitral valve prolapse are normally not required to limit their physical activity, Dr. Kelly said.

It was not immediately clear yesterday what role Gorumba's heavy gear, the near-90 degree heat and high humidity may have played in his death, although Dr. Kelly said all of those factors could have had a negative impact. She also said the adrenaline produced by being in a dangerous firefighting situation could have contributed to Gorumba's collapse.

"Obviously, it's a very stressful job," Dr. Kelly said.

An autopsy will be conducted today.

Gorumba was the first firefighter to die in the line of duty on the Island in two decades, according to Advance records. Firefighter Dennis M. Peterson also suffered a heart attack while battling a blaze in December 1981.

On June 17 of this year, Firefighters John Downey, Brian Fahey and Harry Ford died while battling a fire in an Astoria, Queens, hardware store. In January, two firefighters, Donald L. Franklin and Gregg McLoughlin, suffered heart attacks while on duty. Franklin died about an hour after a fire at a Bronx tenement, and McLoughlin died while working out on a treadmill while on duty. Firefighter Kenneth Kerr died of a heart attack in November after fighting a Bronx fire.

Funeral will take place from the Colonial Funeral Home, 2819 Hylan Boulevard, Staten Island, on Saturday, September 1, 2001, followed by a Mass of Christian Burial at 0930 hours, at St. Charles Roman Catholic Church, Hylan Boulevard and Tysens Lane.

–Three years after he was entombed in the rubble of the World Trade Center, New York City firefighter Jay Jonas worries that Americans have forgotten that the country is vulnerable to attack. "The biggest lesson? Don’t fall asleep," said Jonas, who flew into Des Moines Wednesday and will give an insiders' account of Sept. 11 at a public lecture tonight in Newton. "Make no mistake about it. This is a serious group of people. They want to destroy us."

Jonas, a battalion chief who led one of the first fire crews into the World Trade Center, recently studied Al-Qaida and other Muslim extremist groups during a 14-week counter-terrorism course at the U.S. Military Academy. "All is not well," said Jonas, 46, of Goshen, N.Y. "None of us are going to be safe for a very long time. This is not a war that’s going to be over in a couple years." With major cities tightening security, terrorists may go for "softer targets," Jonas said.

"As we’re driving in from the airport, I’m thinking, there's a target . . . and there's a target," he said. "It can be something much less conspicuous than a high-rise building in a big city." Jonas declined to identify the potential targets, saying it would be inappropriate to do so. On Sept. 11, 2001, Jonas was awaiting orders in the lobby of the north tower as a raging fire consumed 20 floors – each an acre in size – 100 stories above him. He saw a black shadow cross the floor. The second plane hit the south tower with a violent explosion.

"That radically changed things," said Jonas, who was then captain of Ladder Company 6 in Manhattan's Chinatown neighborhood. "That naivete disappeared. We knew we were under attack. One of the firemen said, 'I don’t know if we’ll make it through today.'" It occurred to Jonas then that terrorists had actually declared war on the United States when they bombed the twin towers in 1993. "We just didn’t do anything" then, he said. Jonas gave his crew of five firefighters their orders: Stick together, walk up 80 flights and help anyone you can.

"Without hesitation, they all said, 'OK, Cap, let's go. We’re with you,' " he said. As they hit the stairs, Jonas wondered if the U.S. Air Force would be protecting the building from the air. "I've never been to a fire where I was wondering if we had military backup," he said. Jonas was on the 27th floor, waiting for two firefighters to catch up, when an earthquake-like rumble shook the building and knocked out the lights. The south tower had just collapsed.

"I couldn’t believe it," Jonas said. A 22-year firefighter with two college degrees, he knew no U.S. high-rise had ever collapsed from fire. He looked at his firefighters for a moment, then said, "If that tower can go, this one can go. It's time for us to get out of here." Still, Jonas was nervous because he hadn't gotten an order to evacuate. He later learned the order was radioed before the south tower fell, but he couldn't hear it – probably because the repeaters, which boost radio signals so they can be heard inside skyscrapers, weren't working.

On the way down, they passed a firefighter Jonas used to carpool with to work, Lt. Mike Warchola, who was helping a civilian suffering from chest pain. "Mike, come on," Jonas told him. "Let's go." "We'll be right behind you," Warchola told him. Around the 20th floor, the firefighters found an injured woman in a doorway crying. Helping Josephine Harris, 59, limp down the stairs slowed their descent and bottlenecked everybody behind them. "This was the terrifying time," Jonas said. "The spooky music in this whole scenario is that the clock is ticking. Instead of descending with a normal gait, it was: Step. Step. Step. It was like water torture."

By the fourth floor, Jonas felt a twinge of confidence. They could make it, he thought. Then Harris' legs gave way. She could no longer walk. Jonas broke into the fourth floor to find a chair in which to carry Harris. "It's the biggest office building in the world, and this is not an office floor," he said. "It's a mechanical equipment floor." He searched, running to the opposite side of the building, but couldn't find a chair." Something told me, 'This isn't working out. I've got to get back to the stairway. We're just going to have to drag her.' "

About four feet from the door, there was a thunderous roar and the floor bucked like ocean waves. The collapse had started. Jonas pulled the door handle, but the compression effect kept it stuck shut. He yanked again. It opened. He dove into the stairway, curled into a ball, and waited to be crushed, he said. Rushing wind picked up one of his firefighters and threw him down two flights of stairs. Debris pummeled them, cutting and bruising their skin. Each time a floor pancaked onto the one below, the tremendous vibration bounced them like basketballs. Steel twisted around them with an ear-splitting screech.

"It's over," he thought. "This is how it ends." Then it stopped – 110 floors flattened in 13 seconds. Gagging and coughing in a cloud of dust, Jonas did a roll call. Of the 13 people with him – 11 firefighters, a Port Authority police officer and Harris – one had a concussion, one had a separated shoulder and one possibly had broken ribs. But for the most part, they were fine. Maydays crackled over the radio from elsewhere in the tower. Warchola, the firefighter they'd passed as he helped a civilian, radioed that he was in the B stairway on the 12th floor, badly hurt.

Jonas tried to reach him, but chunks of the stairway were missing or blocked with debris. They were trapped in a two-story pocket. A second mayday came from Warchola. Then a third. Jonas took a breath. "I'm sorry, Mike," he said into the radio. "I can’t help you." The firefighters could hear fires crackling around them. They found a toilet on the fifth floor that wouldn't flush, but would be handy if someone needed to use the john. They found some sprinkler piping they could break into when they got thirsty. They found a service elevator with an open shaft below and figured that, if desperate, they could rappel down into a subcellar and find a subway tunnel out. They found a can of orange soda and shared sips.

An hour passed. Then two hours. Rescuers repeatedly asked for their location. Over and over Jonas said, "North tower, B stairwell, fourth floor." At one point, he heard a firefighter on the radio say, "Where's the north tower?" "I'm thinking, 'You hayseeds. It's the big building on the corner,' " Jonas said. He was unaware that all the physical landmarks of the World Trade Center had disappeared. After 31/2 hours, the dust cleared and a ray of light beamed through a small hole.

"Guys," Jonas told his crew. "There used to be 106 floors above us, and now I'm seeing sunshine. "By widening the hole, they were able to use ropes to climb out. The view stunned them: 16 acres of rubble and two buildings ablaze just feet away. As they hiked over the treacherous debris, Jonas was optimistic he'd see other survivors emerging. "We had a nice little pocket. There’s got to be hundreds of them," he thought. To Jonas’ shock, only his group of 14 and four others escaped the wreckage alive.

The rescue personnel death toll: 421. Altogether, about 3,000 people were confirmed dead in the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks. "The numbers are kind of cold," Jonas said Wednesday. "I hope my story gives this a personal feeling. People aren't recognizing how significant a day it really was."

Denis Warchola was just waking up on Monday, his 65th birthday, when he heard the news that Osama bin Laden had been killed by American soldiers in Pakistan on Sunday.

"I couldn't have gotten a better birthday present," said Mr. Warchola, a Southampton resident, military veteran, retired New York City firefighter and brother of Fire Department of New York Lieutenant Michael Warchola Jr., who was killed just weeks short of his own retirement during the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001.

"I just love the way they did it," he continued. "They didn't use one of those stupid bombs---they went in shooting. They went over the wall and they went in and got him like men. I was in the Army myself, but all I can say today is, 'Go Navy.'"

On Sunday, an elite team of U.S. Navy Seals conducted a raid on a compound in Abbottabad, Pakistan where Bin Laden had reportedly lived for the past five years. He resisted the soldiers and was killed. His body was buried at sea swiftly after the raid, in accord with Islamic rules.

For Mr. Warchola's father, Michael Warchola Sr., the death of the leader and face of Al Qaeda was less relief than reminder The elder Mr. Warchola said when he heard the news, he was reminded of that horrible day, and while he was glad that Bin Laden was brought to justice, the memory is still very painful.

"I'm glad they got him, I guess, but I still feel sad," Mr. Warchola said at his Southampton Village home. "The anger, I think, is dying down, but you never forget about any of it. There's nothing we can do about any of it that really helps."

The news came as bittersweet to Sag Harbor resident Doris Gronlund, whose daughter Linda Gronlund, was a passenger aboard United Flight 93, which crashed near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, on September 11, 2001, when passengers tried to wrest control of the plane back from its hijackers.

"Today, I don't feel very nice," Ms. Gronlund said. "It's a very sad day in many ways. There is no, hurrah. Yes, I'm glad he was caught, but it doesn't change anything. It will never bring that wonderful woman back."

Mr. [sic] Gronlund said the occasion did bring out the best in the supportive nature of the Sag Harbor community. She visited the Linda Gronlund Memorial Preserve in Barcelona and found that someone had planted a small American flag next to the sign honoring her daughter.

"I was so moved," she said. "That's the kind of love I have in this village. It's so incredible to me how caring people are."

But Ms. Gronlund said she is equally pained by the suggestion that Bin Laden's death would somehow assuage the pain of her loss.

"There's a word that people keep saying to me that I haven't gotten myself around: closure. Nobody is going to tell me that I'm going to not be missing my great, elegant, smart daughter," she said of Linda, who was an attorney for BMW of North America in New Jersey and was flying to California with her fiancée on September 11, 2001. "How much more she could have done---she was just 46 years old."

Ms. Gronlund will participate in the dedication of a memorial to all of the Flight 93 victims in Shanksville, Pennsylvania in September in honor of the 10th anniversary of that dark day.

On Monday morning, U.S. Representative Tim Bishop of Southampton also described Bin Laden's death as an opportunity for everyone to remember those from near and far who died in the terrorist attacks and in the war that sprang from them.

"As we mark this momentous day, I hope all Americans will take a moment to remember the lives lost as a result of Osama bin Laden's evil,"he said, calling the killing an important victory and a triumph for justice.

New York Senator Charles Schumer trumpeted the skill and bravery of those who executed the strike on the fortified compound where Bin Laden had been living.

"This is a massive accomplishment for the countless military and intelligence personnel who have been urgently dedicated to this task for the past decade," he said in a statement. "This successful mission sends a definitive message to those who would test the resolve of the United States of America...if you do us harm, we will find you, we will mete out justice and we will prevail."

As he took Michael Warchola's daughter to a doctor's appointment, Denis Warchola nodded to the symbolic importance of Bin Laden's death and said it was a proud day for Americans, even if it was just another sad one for the families of the victims.

"I know it's just one guy, but he was the face of al Qaeda and it tells them that they can run but they can't hide," Mr. Warchola said. "It gives me a little pleasure, I guess. I'm proud today, proud to be an American. I'm proud of this country and I'm proud of our president for sending them in there that way, like men."

*************************

September 21, 2001,

The [Somerset County PA] Daily American,

'Firefighter with local ties among N.Y. victims,'

by Vicki Rock,
Daily American Staff Writer

NEW YORK CITY - Mike Warchola, 51, was retiring at the end of this month. A lieutenant of Ladder Co. 5 of the Fire Department of New York, he was one of the firemen to rush to the scene of the first plane crash at the World Trade Center.

The men of No. 5 and 24 were among the first to respond. They pulled their fire trucks right up to the north tower and headed up the “A” stairwell. The men of Co. 24 made it up 37 floors, carrying heavy equipment, said Marcel Claes of Engine No. 24, and got an urgent message to come down. Co. 5 was up higher.

Warchola and seven others of Ladder Co. 5 perished. Denis, his brother, is also a captain in the fire department. He was not in the building when it collapsed. He helped with rescue efforts and worked to find his brother’s body which was recovered Sept. 15.

Warchola’s father, Michael, is still living. His mother, Norah, is deceased. He has two children, Aaron and Amy Warchola, both in their 20s. His aunt and uncle, Bernard and Dorothy (Warchola) Oravec live in Johnstown. A cousin, Paul Warchola, is also a New York fireman. He was not injured.

"Denis is younger than Mike, and there’s an age difference with me, but they’d come visit us and we'd go there," his cousin, Bernie Oravec, Johnstown, said. "They weren’t used to the woods and we'd go out and put crab apples on sticks and fling them around. They’d take crab apples and sticks back to New York."

Mike and Denis loved the fire department, Oravec said.

"Mike was very nice, an active guy, athletic," he said. "Both Mike and Denis were very active in the fire department."

Oravec's parents received a call from Warchola's father who was visited by the parents of a rookie fireman. That rookie was on the truck with the others of the company, but Warchola wouldn't let him go in the building. He ordered him to leave, saving his life.

His funeral is today (Friday). Only one cousin will go from this area because of the difficulty getting in to New York now, Oravec said. His uncle suggested the others visit later.

A Boeing 767 out of Boston made an emergency landing Tuesday at Cleveland Hopkins International Airport due to concerns that it may have a bomb aboard, said Mayor Michael R. White.

White said the plane had been moved to a secure area of the airport, and was evacuated.

United identified the plane as Flight 93. The airline did say how many people were aboard the flight.

United said it was also "deeply concerned" about another flight, Flight 175, a Boeing 767, which was bound from Boston to Los Angeles.

On behalf of the airline CEO James Goodwin said: "The thoughts of everyone at United are with the passengers and crew of these flights. Our prayers are also with everyone on the ground who may have been involved.

"United is working with all the relevant authorities, including the FBI, to obtain further information on these flights," he said.

This is one of the earliest documented news items from September 11th, with it's web appearance timestamped before noon that day. That it stems from such a high-level source as Cleveland's mayor, while being so wildly divergent from the official narrative of events, makes for interesting, if disorienting, reading. [A para-UFO information web site, www.jerrypippin.com is responsible for its preservation as a screen grab of a cache page maintained at their news site, whose servers are only God-knows-where. So if you are a good spook, thank you very much, but don't we get to drop a house on your wicked sister before this movie is over?

SHANKSVILLE, Pennsylvania (AP) -- A passenger on United Airlines Flight 93 called on his cell phone from a locked bathroom and delivered a chilling message.

"We are being hijacked, we are being hijacked!" Minutes later the jetliner crashed in western Pennsylvania with 45 people aboard, the last of four closely timed terror attacks across the country.

Radar showed the San Francisco-bound Boeing 757 from Newark, New Jersey, had nearly reached Cleveland when it made a sharp left turn and headed back toward Pennsylvania, crashing in a grassy field edged by woods about 80 miles southeast of Pittsburgh. There was no sign of any survivors.

"There's a crater gouged in the earth, the plane is pretty much disintegrated. There's nothing left but scorched trees," said Mark Stahl, of Somerset, who went to the scene.

The Boeing 757 crash was one of four reported Tuesday by United and American Airlines. Two jetliners crashed into the World Trade Center in New York City and one hit the Pentagon in Washington.

United said Flight 93 left Newark at 8:01 a.m. with 38 passengers, two pilots and five flight attendants. Minutes before the 10 a.m. crash, an emergency dispatcher in Pennsylvania received a cell phone call from a man who said he was a passenger locked in a bathroom aboard United Flight 93. The man repeatedly said the call was not a hoax, said dispatch supervisor Glenn Cramer in neighboring Westmoreland County.

"We are being hijacked, we are being hijacked!" Cramer quoted the man from a transcript of the call.

The man told dispatchers the plane "was going down. He heard some sort of explosion and saw white smoke coming from the plane and we lost contact with him," Cramer said.

FBI agent Wells Morrison wouldn't confirm that the plane was hijacked, but said the FBI was reviewing the tape of the 911 call.

"At this point, we're not prepared to say it was an act of terrorism, though it appears to be that," Morrison said.

Reporters were taken to the top of a hill overlooking the scene. The crash left a V-shaped gouge in a grassy field surrounded by thick woods, just below a hilltop strip mine. The gouge is 8- to 10-feet deep and 15- to 20-feet long, said Capt. Frank Monaco of the Pennsylvania State Police. Investigators believe the plane crashed there and disintegrated, sending debris into thick trees nearby, Monaco said.

"There's nothing in the ground you can see," Monaco said of the crash site. "It just looks like tiny pieces of debris."

Michael R. Merringer was out on a mountain bike ride with his wife, Amy, about two miles away from the crash site.

"I heard the engine gun two different times and then I heard a loud bang and the windows of the houses all around rattled," Merringer said. "I looked up and I saw the smoke coming up."

The couple rushed home and drove near the scene.

"Everything was on fire and there was trees knocked down and there was a big hole in the ground," he said.

In Chicago, United CEO James Goodwin said the airline was sending a team to Pennsylvania to assist in the investigation and to provide assistance to family members.

"Today's events are a tragedy and our prayers are with everyone at this time," Goodwin said.

Without citing a death toll, United said Tuesday afternoon that it had identified all passengers and crew members on board the two planes and was notifying family members. No names were released immediately.

In Pennsylvania's Richland Township, police Chief Jim Mock said air traffic control coordinators reported Tuesday morning that a large aircraft was heading toward John Murtha Johnstown Cambria County Municipal Airport in the township, about 60 miles east of Pittsburgh.

The air traffic controllers said the aircraft would not identify itself, according to Mock, who is also the airport's emergency coordinator. Shortly after talking to the controllers, Mock said, a plane crashed north of the Somerset County airport about 20 miles away.

"It shook the whole station," said Bruce Grine, owner of Grine's Service Center in Shanksville, about 21/2 miles from the crash. "Everybody ran outside, and by that time the fire whistle was blowing."

Stahl was listening to reports about the World Trade Center attacks on the radio when he heard Flight 93 crash. He took pictures showing a billowing cloud and a large, black hole burrowed into the ground surrounded by small piece of airplane still on fire.

"I didn't know what to think, it was shocking," Stahl said.

At San Francisco International Airport, where the plane was headed, an evacuation was ordered. Bomb-sniffing dogs patrolled the hallways and a counseling center was set up for relatives of the people aboard Flight 93.

"This is a time for compassion. It's not a time for long sermons," said the Rev. John Delariva, a Catholic priest who is part of the airport's counseling team.

Flight 93 also operated as a code-share flight with Air Canada as Flight AC4085.

**************************

The Shanksville Crash Site, 2010

Neat trick being able to see white smoke "coming from the plane" while inside a locked bathroom. Or or we to understand the grammar employed to possibly indicate he'd seen the smoke earlier? Along with the [concurrent, we assume] "some sort of explosion," which would give rise to it. So was this a hijacking or a plane bombing? If it were both, wouldn't they have come in that order?

"'We are being hijacked, we are being hijacked!' Minutes later the jetliner crashed in western Pennsylvania..." indicates it came first in a sequence, while the "we're going down," is the likely response following an explosion resulting in white smoke, which occurred shortly before being disconnected, and seconds before the "end."

In any event, this bathroom tale means the call was made on a cell phone while the plane was going over 500 miles per hour, so pins down a narrative element that shifts between calls using Airfones and cell phones.

Frances Watson wears a picture of her neice CeeCee Coss Lyles, flight attendent of UA Flight 93, around her neck like a credential, on Sept. 9, 2009